The Nature of Time
by Ria
Summary: Birthdays are never quite the same when they've already been celebrated as kings and queens, but the Pevensies soon manage to adjust. Somewhat.


**Title:** The Nature of Time  
**Author:** Ria  
**Disclaimer:** The Chronicles of Nania are not mine and never will be - they're belonged to the Estate of C.S. Lewis and Walt Disney and various other people, and I claim no ownership. I do this for no profit, merely for my own enjoyment and hopefully the enjoyment of others, as well.  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters/Pairings:** Focuses on the Pevensies, especially Susan towards the latter half; no pairings, unless one counts more sibling interaction than you can shake a stick at.  
**Spoilers:** General and some heavy spoilers of all the books except for _The Horse and His Boy_.  
**Warnings:** Uh, angst?  
**Wordcount:** 4,000 words  
**Summary:** Birthdays are never quite the same when they've already been celebrated as kings and queens, but the Pevensies soon manage to adjust. Somewhat.

**The Nature of Time**

It is their last year as rulers of Narnia, though none of them know this at the time, of course. They have governed Narnia for many years by now, and they have become older, wiser, and all-round better people as good monarchs should. It is the Golden Age of Narnia and they are the most beloved kings and queens since the time of King Frank and Queen Helen.

Peter is every inch the High King, golden, splendid and besieged by almost every available female possible. He takes the flirting and the not-so-subtle hints with a cheerful laugh and a warm smile, and rejects it all so very politely.

Susan is a sight to behold, her beauty awe-inspiring and breathtaking all at once. She is a legend to the women beyond the sea, both for her grace and elegance and for the archery skills that few openly speak of, for it is the other siblings who go to war and not her.

Edmund is known to all for the advice that he will give to any who ask and for the justice that he advocates so fiercely. None speak of his betrayal now, for all has been forgiven, and the other Pevensie monarchs are quick to anger if the subject is ever brought up. If Edmund is ever reminded of his old treachery, then it is through his own mind.

And Lucy, well, Lucy seems to still be the girl-child that many of their most loyal subjects still remember her as, quick to smile, to laugh and to wonder at the latest surprise that Narnia presents to her. She is bright, glittering in sunlight and silver, spreading good cheer wherever she goes. If shadows haunt her, then she keeps them to herself.

In the fifteenth year of their reign, when the Golden Age is truly at its peak, they all gain another year, the time lending them only grace and beauty and love. They are now truly adults, grown into their destiny and all that they were ever meant to be.

In the fifteenth year of their reign, they celebrate another birthday. Because of a White Stag, they will never gain another year in Narnia.

* * *

It is Lucy's ninth birthday that arrives first after they've fallen back through the Wardrobe, and no one knows how to act when the day dawns. Lucy's already been nine – she's been a beauty, a woman, a warrior – and her siblings don't know how to celebrate the occasion because there's already been a grand party with marvellous food, endless dancing, and the dearest birthday wishes of their subjects. Nothing in this drab world where they are so insignificant could ever match or compare to the splendour that they've left behind. 

But they try. Peter gives her a hug, a kiss on the forehead, and a birthday dance in the form of an exaggerated waltz that neither of them manages to get right. (She can't forget her eighteenth birthday when Peter spun her effortlessly and they were decked in velvets and jewels and delicate crowns, and they were lovely and graceful and all that they now are not.) Edmund is nice to her and gives her an extra cake that he snatched from under the Macready's eye, which is more than she could have hoped for, but then, Edmund is different now. And Susan gives her the soothing sisterly hug that she offers when she's not trying to be all boring and grown-up (Susan was much more free with her affection when they were queens), and a new ribbon that is actually one of Susan's that Lucy has secretly wished for.

Mother can't come down, so they attempt to be as jolly as they can, and when the Professor discovers what day it is, he insists for his housekeeper to make the most splendid spread, and for the first time since they've come back, they realise that this world isn't as bad as they thought and perhaps they've simply become too used to the standard of living reserved for royalty.

Susan isn't surprised when she wakes up to see Lucy slipping out of the room, candlelight wavering before her. She is not surprised to see her sister's destination when she follows her, nor is she surprised to see Peter watching Lucy as well from the shadows. Their eyes meet and they silently acknowledge each other, Lucy's protectors who can no longer guard her from the harsh realities of growing up, and they both fade away back to their rooms, leaving Lucy alone in the spare room with only a Wardrobe for company.

Another year passes and the three remaining Pevensie children also note another birthday for each of them, a birthday that they've really already celebrated. They return home when the air-raids end and they pass a summer that probably would have been dreadfully boring if they didn't share the secret of their own country. They gossip, reminisce, re-enact the more exciting parts, and wonder what their friends are doing now.

No ever wonders aloud if they will ever return there. None of them wants to tempt fate.

And then it happens, just as the Professor told them, right when they aren't expecting it. Only it's not the Narnia that they remember and none of their friends is alive – a thousand years have gone by? Impossible! – and it just isn't the same.

But they do their duty as kings and queens of Narnia, even those of legend, are expected to do, and they restore Caspian to his rightful throne and Narnia takes the first stuttering steps back towards its former glory, back when they were on the throne and the country was splendid and true.

None of them will ever admit it, but they all realised at one point or another that, in all of their eyes, Narnia had lost some of its magic and wonderful beauty upon their return. They had expected to return to the same country that they had left; they had not.

Peter and Susan never explained exactly why they were no longer allowed to return to Narnia.

* * *

Edmund's twelfth birthday arrives, but unlike the previous year, they do not dither over the appropriate celebration methods when they return home during the holidays. They have returned to Narnia and they are no longer monarchs there, merely legends, and legends, to children who still do not truly comprehend what they are, do not merit the same respect as the memories that still linger in their minds. 

Father is still not home from the war, but his absence is a hollow in their lives that they've almost become used to, a hollow that simply cannot be filled by his sporadic and infrequent letters. Mother tells only Peter and Susan news of the war because they are old enough now, time and war having made them older than their years, but Edmund and Lucy are old hands at getting information out of their older siblings, and they know the war is getting worse, not better.

They talk, and remember old times, and it almost seems like they haven't been separated during the school year. Peter's become a little more solemn and sad (ever since they returned from Narnia, that is, and the others wonder will he ever be the same), Edmund's improved greatly, Susan has tried even harder to be the grown-up one (she doesn't participate in the Narnia discussions as much as she used to, Peter and Edmund notice, but Lucy says she's been like that all year), and Lucy… well, Lucy hasn't really changed very much at all, as far as her brothers can tell.

None of them notice when Susan slips out of the room, so involved are they all in their discussion of Caspian and what Narnia is like now. When they do notice her absence, none of them can find the strength or inclination to search for her, since she really wasn't involved in their talk very much in the first place.

* * *

Growing-up in Narnia seemed so much more fun than growing-up here, in this sad and depressing world where their clothes are grey and ill-fitting. That summer, Peter finally has to face a reality where he is growing up, going to the Professor's for the chance of extra tutoring to pass the exam that keeps him up all hours and means that he never smiles anymore. Susan goes to America, and considering that she doesn't care a whit for schoolwork anymore and Mother says nothing about it, while the rest of them labour over dull exercises and horrible arithmetic and tedious grammar, it's not difficult to feel that Susan gets all the luck. 

And Lucy and Edmund are stuck with Eustace, the prig, and they really don't think they've done anything so terrible to deserve this.

Only then they're pulled back into Narnia (what luck!) and Caspian is king and he's doing what Peter and Edmund used to do, going on a fantastic quest for eternal glory, and it's the most exciting thing that either of them has done in ages, even if Eustace is unbearable.

When they return, victorious, triumphant, and not a little bitter for their time, too, has ended in Narnia, Peter abandons all study and listens attentively, his eyes alight and blazing, and he appears to them to be reawakened – Peter the Magnificent sits before them once more. He gasps at the right places, cheers, laughs – he abandons all pretence of maturity, shucks the role of the responsible student, and Edmund and Lucy have never loved him more for it.

Susan's reaction, however, is not so satisfactory.

Susan, to all their amazement and disbelief, has begun to forget.

* * *

Susan is fourteen now, and she is mature, sophisticated, worldly – all of the things that she has wished to be for so long. Her siblings have tried to tell her as tactfully as they could that she was all of those things, and more, in Narnia, but she scoffs at them and laughs that they still believe in their childhood games. Lucy silently slips away and cries for a while the first time that Susan says that. It will not be the last time that she will cry. 

America has changed Susan and not for the better. She comes back with clothes that are bright and beautiful and look wonderful when she puts them on and shows them off, but none of them like to tell her that she doesn't look anything like their sister when she wears them. Her siblings know that this is probably what she desires to hear, but they don't mean to say it as a compliment.

She and Peter cannot talk as they used to – their affection for the other is now strained and weak – and they keep away from each other a lot more than they used to. Edmund has never quite forgiven Susan for beginning to forget Narnia the previous summer, not after all that he still remembers and what he went through, and so it is easy for him to avoid her. And Lucy, well, Lucy tries, she really does. Susan is her only sister and Lucy wants to always be able to go to her and spill her secrets and troubles, like they used to when they were younger and then when they were in Narnia.

They are sisters. No silly fancy can make Susan forget that, or so Lucy believes.

Lucy is still so very naïve.

* * *

Eustace, they all agree, has come along splendidly – in some ways, they still can't believe he has improved so much from the rotten little pig he was only a year ago. They're all excited and pleased to listen when he comes to visit at Christmas to tell them that he has been back to Narnia, with a rather good sort of girl named Jill Pole. Except for Susan, of course, who is at some party or other, they all crowd around to listen to him, dismayed to learn of Caspian's death (but not surprised, for that is sometimes the nature of time in Narnia) and somewhat bitter because the realisation of their own loss in being unable to visit Narnia hits them all hard, and they long for the country so dear to them and, of course, for the great Lion. 

And after that… nothing happens. The years pass and soon Eustace and Jill surpass the age that even Peter was before he wasn't allowed to return Narnia, and they begin to wonder if Aslan has deserted or forgotten about them. Surely not, it can't be true, but then, so long has passed…

Susan drifts further and further away from them, grieving for Narnia in her own way, Peter tells them one time, his face sad and his eyes dark, but Susan's way doesn't seem like grieving at all: Susan's way seems like dancing and parties and highly unsuitable things that their mother and father don't know about.

The Professor and Aunt Polly are kind, however, and they understand them, bringing them together for meals and long talks about Narnia and Aslan and all the other sorts of things people can only talk about when they've gone to another world, and that helps. It makes things seem not so bad for a little while, helping the Pevensies forget that they hardly know what to say or do around their eldest sister anymore.

And then the king appears before them like a ghost and Magic is in the air, and Eustace and Jill, as the youngest of them all, must find a way to get into Narnia, somehow, even though they're not so young anymore.

Adventure is in their lives once more. The clock could almost be ticking backwards. Aslan has not deserted them, after all.

* * *

When Peter turns eighteen, he has already entered university, so their family has a second celebration for him practically nipping on the heels of the previous one. Their mother and father are so proud of him being accepted into Oxford, his father even wistfully imagining his eldest son following him into a career of academics. Their mother cries, so full of pride is she for her eldest boy. 

Edmund complains that Peter has overachieved yet again, meaning that everyone will have similar expectations of him, since Edmund's own important exam is looming precariously close. Peter ruffles his brother's hair, dodging the mock punch the indignant Edmund flings at him, and informs him in his most serious and solemn voice that he expects Edmund to do even better than he did. Edmund snorts and informs Peter not to hold his breath.

But Susan is different, as she always is these days, and Peter can only stare and blink when he opens the door and finds her standing on his doorstep, patiently waiting to be let in. He finds himself relieved that the house is empty except for him; Susan is a beautiful, sophisticated lady nowadays, and he's not quite sure what he thinks of his housemates watching her while keeping a wary eye on _him_.

Everyone knows how protective Peter is of his siblings, even when he doesn't know what to say to one of them anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asks, still staring at her. How long has it been since he and Susan had a conversation together that didn't descend into a vicious argument? The blankness of his mind tells him exactly how long and he takes a deep breath; now is the time to make amends, to bridge the gap between them and be as close as they once were.

Susan raises a perfect eyebrow. "To wish you a happy birthday, silly," she tells him, her tone bordering on the edge of patronising, but she stops herself from plunging into open scorn and Peter is thankful to her for that. Susan has a knack for making him seem so very small at times.

He lets her in and gives her tea, dithering over the chocolate biscuits (is she watching her figure this month?) until she accepts one with a small smile and delicately bites into it.

And they talk, the conversation stilted and awkward at first, but soon they remember old jokes and fall into familiar rhythms and laugh and things seem to be just the same as always.

And then it all goes wrong.

Susan sighs, plucking at her blouse and twisting a dark curl around a finger, grimacing. "Sometimes I don't feel pretty at all," she confides in Peter. "Sometimes I wake up and still feel like that plain, awkward little girl who went to the country with you all."

Peter laughs. "Oh, you goose, Susan! Sometimes I don't know what to do with you at all. You're very pretty, though…" he pauses, reflecting, and then continues, "I think you looked prettier in Narnia, with your dresses and such. You didn't wear make-up in Narnia like you do here, and I think you looked the better for it." Some would say he's biased in favour of everything to do with Narnia, but in this he is honest: Susan really did look much prettier in Narnia, not with her lip rouge and face powder and all the other little cosmetic boxes and – things that she always carries with her.

Susan stiffens and Peter inwardly sighs, knowing he's messed up and about to pay the price. He should have known better than to mention Narnia to her, when she's still utterly convinced that it was all just a childhood game. But he secretly admires his sister's sheer strength of will, to have completely forgotten Narnia and their rule and their friends and everything else that mattered in the course of fifteen years.

But his secret admiration doesn't stop him from frowning at the pity in Susan's eyes when she turns to face him, nor does it stop a hot curl of anger from unwinding in his stomach when she speaks.

"Oh, Peter," she says, the empty sorrow in her voice making a mockery of him and everything he believes in, "please don't tell me that you still believe in Narnia and in Aslan. You're in university – it's time to grow up."

* * *

It is a miserable, dreadful day and the weather is oddly fitting for the occasion. Today, she has buried her family and she faces the world as an orphan for the rest of her days. 

She's cried so much that she can't find it in her for any more tears to be shed, so she huddles in her black dress and coat and stares blankly at distant headstones with writing so blurred and faded that she can't read it and doesn't particularly want to. With her tears came a terrible sorrow and pain that made her unable to swallow a thing, and a headache throbs at her temples.

She doesn't know why she is still here: there are plenty of family members who offered to take her home and let her rest until she could decide on her future – oh, God, what is she to do? – but she felt like going with none of them. A few of her more meddlesome, matchmaking great aunts from her mother's side whispered that there was a distant cousin or friend of a nephew who would be a great help to her, but she merely smiled and thanked them, all the while wanting to scream. Her family was dead, and they could only think of marrying her off!

But, she realises as a shiver crawls down her spine, what else is she good for? She never excelled at school, not even like Lucy was beginning to do – oh, _Lucy_ – and the jobs she can qualify for are menial and dreadfully dull… but there is no one else to depend on, now, only herself. She is alone, and it is time she faced up to that.

She remembers Peter and how he always offered to find her a good job, a job that wouldn't be dull or horrible or anything like that, and how she always refused, telling him hotly that soon she wouldn't _need_ a job. And she remembers Edmund snorting, telling her in his practical way – how she used to be – that even she would need to work just like the rest of them. And she remembers Lucy, who seemed to be always so sad lately.

She misses them terribly, now that they are no longer with her.

And she is so very, very alone.

"You are never alone. I am always with you."

For a moment, she almost manages to convince herself that grief has made her hallucinate and hear things that aren't real, but there is no mistaking that deep, soothing voice and she begins to tremble when she slowly turns to her right.

The Lion sits near her, golden and sharp against the miserable dullness that surrounds them. His eyes are clear, gazing at her almost blankly. He will give her no condemnation, not yet.

"You're not real," she says, taking a step back, but it's a fair foolish thing to say when he's right there before her, looking frighteningly real.

Sorrow flickers in his eyes. "Do you truly believe that I would hurt you, Daughter of Eve?"

"My name is _Susan_!" she snaps before she can stop herself, but she notices him shift, sees the muscles and great paws flex, and she shudders. "Please," she whispers, bowing her head, "you've hurt me already. You kept me from returning to Narnia" – and there, she's admitted that she remembered all along and none of them can hear her! – "and now you've taken my entire family away from me. How can you claim not to have hurt me?"

This time, the sorrow is obvious in his countenance as he rises and pads towards her. "Some things must be done," he whispers, nuzzling her, and the musty smell of his mane is so heartbreakingly familiar and she remembers being crowned and chasing her brothers and sister through a land that was hers and loved her as she loved it, and she begins to cry.

She clutches his mane between her fingers and sobs, "I want to go to them. Please, I can't stay here alone. I _need_ them."

Aslan purrs, the sound making her breathe in a shuddering breath and attempt to calm herself. She wipes her eyes as he says, "You were to find me in this world… that was why you and Peter were the first to be stopped from returning to Narnia. It was too easy for you to believe in me while you were there; here, belief is much more difficult."

She lets out a choked cry. "And I have not believed."

He pauses, but then says, "No, you have not."

She knows then that she is damned, but courage that she can't remember feeling for a very long time – she is a Queen, make-up be damned, and she will hold her head up high! – forces her to look Aslan in the eye and ask, "Are they are happy… wherever they are?" She doesn't dare let the word _Heaven_ pass from her lips.

Aslan appears to consider his words carefully and then says, "They are, of a sort. They are now in a place where they can be nothing but happy… but true eternal joy will not fill their hearts until you are there with them."

She narrows her eyes (_I am brave, I am, and I will not let you defeat me_) and asks, "And what must I do to join them?"

He rises and for a moment light seems to envelop him, and a fierce surge of terrible awe fills her chest as she stares up at him, and she realises that she never stopped believing in him, and she buries her face in his mane and clings to him, for he is all that she has left.

He licks her cheek slowly, like he did when greeting her when she was a girl, and he whispers, "Believe." And the terrible weight is gone from her shoulders and her heart begins to soar and she does, she does, _she does_.

**FINIS**


End file.
